


You light the fires, I put them out; it’s a nice change of pace

by VulpixSinistre



Series: Unusual Contessa Ships [3]
Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: F/F, back in the past... back in the Elena times, its probably fine?, rated T because I don’t know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpixSinistre/pseuds/VulpixSinistre
Summary: Anastasia was wild. Never concealing any part of her presence. All loose hair and loud heels - when she wore high heels, at least. Otherwise she was combat boots under a linen dress, rough and tumble. Glowing, burning, fiery. If anyone could fly, it would be her, Maria thought.
Relationships: Contessa Maria Sinistre/Anastasia Furan, Nero/Elena in the background
Series: Unusual Contessa Ships [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173347
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	You light the fires, I put them out; it’s a nice change of pace

“Am I your chaperone, or your wingman?” 

The Contessa crossed her legs and reapplied her lipstick, flicking her eyes up from her compact mirror to the visibly nervous Dr. Nero. He was buckled into the seat across from her, bouncing his leg up and down while the helicopter began its descent. 

“Both- neither- I don’t know,” he stammered. “I thought it would be best to have someone else come along, for appearances. So there’s less pressure. And…”

“Moral support?” she chuckled. 

He sighed and put his head down, running his fingers through his hair. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry about it, Max,” the Contessa waved her hand and focused back on her reflection. “She’s going to love you. In fact, she probably already does.”

“Oh, please.”

“It’s Elena, isn’t it? What a pretty name.”

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” Nero mumbled, head back in the clouds. 

An attraction between Dr. Nero and the youngest Furan had been building for a while now. Clearly he was in head over heels already. They had arranged a meeting at the Furan’s house and, in some attempt to make it appear like a work meeting in case word got out, he invited along the Contessa. It didn’t sound exciting, sitting around all day like a third wheel, but at least it was a little break from her daily work. Besides, Nero assured her, there would be other people around for her to talk to. 

The helicopter touched down for landing. Nero sharply inhaled as he felt the jolt of hitting the ground. His grip on the armrests tightened and he made no move to get up and leave. 

“Let’s go, it's not polite to keep a girl waiting,” the Contessa scolded, unbuckling his seatbelt and practically dragging him outside. 

The Furan’s home was impressive enough, she supposed. Large and multi storied, it definitely wasn’t cheap, especially with all the surrounding land, although it wasn’t exactly what she would describe as elegant. With its boxy shape and plain gray walls, it gave off a slight prison atmosphere. 

“Max!”

Nero’s head snapped up towards the source of the cheery voice. Elena, dressed in emerald green and a big smile, ran over to greet her guest. Her brown, curled hair bounced around with each step. She was aglow from the moment he walked out of the helicopter. 

Of course, she didn’t notice the Contessa at all. Nero too had seemed to immediately forget that he’d brought his coworker along. Fine by her. Truthfully, she’d never been too fond of Elena. While she had heard stories of the Furans, the only one she had met before had been Elena, and she thought the Russian girl was too bubbly, too cheery all the time, as if she was perpetually feigning innocence.

The Contessa stifled a groan, already bored… and then noticed the woman standing by the doorway. 

She slouched back against the side of the house in a misty purple dress that tightened at the waist and flowed in the sleeves and skirt. Reddish brown hair hung free down to her mid chest. Her arms were folded and judging by the scowl she aimed at Nero, she wasn’t enthused about having him here. Neither he nor Elena noticed as they giggled amongst themselves. 

Once the woman turned her attention to the Contessa, it was as if a switch had been flicked inside her mind, her features slipping into the complete opposite direction. 

They were frozen in place, observing each other as if that would tell them everything they needed to know. Neither wanted to speak first, the unbroken eye contact was almost enough. 

“Pardon me, where are my manners?” Elena, finally noticing that other people besides Nero existed, lightly laughed and tucked loose hairs behind her ear. “Nastya, this is Max’s friend, the Countess. Maria, ah, Sinistre.”

Annoyed, she veiled her correction as part of an introduction. “I am most often known as simply the Contessa.”

Elena brushed the words away and continued on in that charming hostess voice. “Hmm? Of course. And over there is my older sister-“

“Anastasia.” The other woman interrupted and began a slow, purposeful walk towards the three. “Anastasia Furan.” She marched on, stopping once she stood right in front of the Contessa. She did not attempt to shake hands, or greet Nero, or look at anything else except the woman before her. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Anastasia… that is a beautiful name.”

* * *

Nero would thank the Contessa profusely for continuing to tag along. It was a great help. If it was too inconvenient, he could try convincing someone else to come along, he told her. She shook her head, that would not be necessary, of course she could take a day or two here and there to support her friend. It was a treat to see the outside world every now and again, after all. 

Although really, she had found something more refreshing than the sky.

* * *

The third Furan, their brother, paces around the house like a caged tiger. The looks he shoots in their direction range from curiosity, to annoyance, to anger. 

“He doesn’t like it when you two come to visit,” Anastasia explains one day, after he slipped silently into the room, grunted, and slammed the door as he left. 

“Why not?” The Contessa didn’t care much for Pietor, not that she would admit such a thing out loud. 

“He can see what’s happening.” After pouring herself a full cup of black tea, Anastasia stretched across the table to fill the other woman’s cup. “With our sister and the Doctor. And with us.”

With one hand wrapped around the steaming teacup and the other under her chin as she propped herself up on an elbow, the Contessa couldn’t help but lean forward, closing the gap between them by the slightest amount. “Oh? And what would that be?”

She mirrored the pose down to the small, knowing smile. “You already know the answer to that.”

* * *

Anastasia was wild. Never concealing any part of her presence. All loose hair and loud heels - when she wore high heels, at least. Otherwise she was combat boots under a linen dress, rough and tumble. Glowing, burning, fiery. If anyone could fly, it would be her, Maria thought. 

They painted their nails together, deep, moody shades of red ranging from wine to near black. Maria matched the colors with lipstick; Anastasia did so by staining her hands red in other ways.

* * *

A gorgeous dollhouse resided deep inside, in one of the innermost rooms where ordinary guests wouldn’t find themselves. The first time she saw it, Maria was amazed, fawning over the craftsmanship and attention to detail. Every inch, every crevice, had been designed and painted with the utmost care. It looked much more warm and welcoming than the Furan’s actual home, she thought. She peeked through the miniature windows and inquired as to who it belonged to. 

“It belongs to all of us.” Anastasia crossed her arms and watched her admire it. 

“Even Pietor?” she softly chuckled, unable to picture him anywhere near it. 

One shoulder raised in a half-shrug. “A little.”

Porcelain dolls called it home. Not tossed inside, but purposefully positioned throughout, sitting at the tea table or peering out the window. Normal things for normal people. 

She had the sense that the dollhouse had been acting as more of a display than a toy. As if the only time it was touched was to be dusted off. Not that she knew for certain, or cared, really. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s perfect, just the way it is,” Anastasia said almost insistently. “If I had my way I’d lock it up in a case so nothing disturbs it. Perfect forever, everything in its proper place,” she trailed off wistfully. 

Maria nodded. She understood this, somehow. “Why don’t you?”

“Elena refuses to let me. For her, I will listen.”

“Does that mean I’m not allowed to touch anything, or…?” Maria asked, hovering over a tiny, flawlessly painted doll. “I would put it back just how it was, of course.”

Anastasia pursed her lips together in thought. Something was spinning around in that brain of hers, two sides of herself debating with each other. Finally she indicated her approval with a brusque nod, but no words. Just those hawk-like eyes, watching. Wondering. 

* * *

“You’ll catch a cold that way.” Maria waltzed into the garden unaccompanied, no longer needing to be greeted or shown around upon arrival. Already she was all too familiar with the Furan’s estate. 

Anastasia lounged on the dull marble fountain, which was still on despite the season. Her dress had been bunched around her thighs so she could dip her legs in the water. She tipped her head back and watched Maria approach, upside down, and reached out to her. 

They squeezed each other’s hands and leaned in, pressing simultaneous kisses on each other’s cheeks, then Maria settled down on the fountain facing the opposite way. 

“I find it invigorating, actually,” Anastasia answered. Her legs circled through the water without a single splash. 

Maria dipped a finger in the fountain and sure enough, it was ice cold. “It’s freezing.”

“I’m used to that.” The cool breeze swept around her already messy hair and still she didn’t shiver. One leg kicked up and planted on the fountain, knee bent to the sky, and she fell back onto Maria’s lap like it was a pillow. “You should be relaxing, too. I know you’ve been hard at work. Too many projects under your belt.”

“It will all be worth it. I intend to work my way up the ranks as fast as possible.” She brushed idly through Anastasia’s hair as she spoke. 

“Oh?” She nodded, a sign to continue. 

Determined, dreamily, Maria went on. “I want _everyone_ to know my name one day. They’ll talk of me all across the world. I will be heard, and heard of. Loud and clear.”

Anastasia snuggled in closer and sighed contentedly. “They will, I believe that. And while you are a shout, I will be a whisper.”

Maria teased, “You want to be the scary story that parents tell their children at bedtime?”

“When people say the name ‘Anastasia Furan,’ I want it to be a warning.” She raised herself up to cup her companion’s face and delicately brush her thumbs along her cheeks. “And I’ll go after anyone who crosses you. Or anyone at all, if you asked me to.”

“Why, thank you. I would gladly do the same for you.” Maria couldn’t help but blush, happy with what she knew basically amounted to a declaration of… affection. Yes, simple affection; no need to get too carried away, even though everything Anastasia said to her was with an intensity that had yet to be matched by anyone else. 

* * *

One warmer day the two women spread a blanket out in the field, to lay down flat on their backs and pretend to care about the shapes of the clouds floating by. They talked about nothing important, simply trying to relax in the way only fairytale children without a care in the world can. 

They braided strands of their hair together. Anastasia started it, loose and sloppy, and Maria finished it, practiced and neat. Auburn and ebony twists that drew their heads closer together, resting on each other. A rare peaceful, tender moment, and the type that relaxes one to the point of feeling sleepy even if they were bursting with energy moments before. Succumbing to a nap while feeling the warm skin of someone dear was truly one of life’s greatest luxuries. 

* * *

The past was one of Anastasia’s favorite topics. Unfortunately, it was one of the few Maria preferred to avoid. It was full of too many memories she did not want to revisit. But Anastasia reveled in the past as if each prior day was her peak of glory. 

Maria listened to the tales of her accomplishments, the Furans’ adventures, but grimaced when asked to provide her own stories. “I’d rather look to the future,” she would simply say. Her companion would pull a similar frown and shake her head in disagreement. 

“What’s the point of thinking about where you’re going to be, if you can’t enjoy where you’ve already been? Besides, plans don’t always go as they should.”

“I’ll _make_ them work out.”

They reached a compromise one day. “Why don’t we talk about what’s in front of us here and now,” Maria suggested, scooting over. Each inch brought them closer and made her smile grow. “For example, I am in front of you. You are in front of me.”

Anastasia agreed. Very much so. 

* * *

The woods near the Furan’s home was a fine place to wander around. Not so dense, like a thick forest, that was all too easy to get lost in; just full enough of nature and _life_ to be of entertainment. Maria insisted they not stray from the path. Walking through uneven dirt in heels was not her idea of a good time. 

Spring’s new growth had begun its slow takeover of the pathway. Weeds pulled themselves on and between the stones while thin trees reached over to brush against the two women. Anastasia, in the lead, held back the branches out of their way. Further and further into the woods they went, until suddenly one branch escaped from her grasp and whipped backwards across Maria’s face. 

She squawked in surprise; thankfully it didn’t hurt all that much, but she could feel blood already dripping down past her chin. Anastasia rapidly spun around to check on her. No apologies, she only cooed sympathetically. They stood still for a few moments, looking at each other, before she made a move. 

Why, in that split second, did Maria assume that Anastasia would caress her cheek and lick the blood off her fingertips? Why indeed, especially when all she did was pull a handkerchief from her pocket and offer it to the bleeding woman, then turn right around and continue on walking. 

* * *

Maria was fond of tall bouquets of flowers. Grand arrangements, obviously expensive looking, with light colored roses and vibrant dahlias, regal irises and weeping lilies. Once they showed the slightest evidence of wilting, she had them thrown out and replaced with new ones. 

Anastasia preferred the dying flowers. She liked to press them between the pages of books and keep them forever, tucked inside old leather bound copies of _A Tale of Two Cities_ or _The Count of Monte Cristo_. They remained hidden in her library until someone would pluck a book off the shelf and crack it open only for a dried and faded chrysanthemum to fall into their lap. 

“I still have the first flower you ever gave me,” Anastasia whispered, pressing kisses up Maria’s neck, her jawline, by her ear, “in my copy of _Anna Karenina_.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in acknowledgement, avoiding bringing up how the flowers she received from Anastasia had long since been thrown away. 

* * *

There was a certain grace about people when practicing sword techniques, darting an imaginary blade back and forth with the footwork of a dancer. But what Anastasia did was more akin to shadow boxing. Instead of cutting past the air, she bursted through it; swings turned into blows, until she started all but punching at the invisible enemy before her. 

“Let me teach you to fight,” she demanded out of nowhere. Sweat beaded at her forehead. She wiped it off with a hand towel which she then tossed aside. “I want to make sure you can take care of yourself when I’m not around.”

Maria watched it all from the comfort of the sofa, taking in the Russian woman’s increasingly erratic motions. She huffed in mild indignance. “I can take care of myself just fine already, thank you.”

“I’m talking about in combat, doll.” Anastasia stretched her arms over her head and leaned first to the left, then the right. “What if someone attacks you before you get the chance to speak? What then? Can you fight back? Can you break free?”

“What are you talki- _oh_!” 

In a flash, Anastasia lunged forward. Like an animal she pounced, using her weight to knock the other woman over. Maria hadn’t even seen in coming and now here she was, sprawled back on the couch, pinned down in place as a strong grip pressed her wrists flat down on either side of her head. 

Anastasia leered down at her, a wide grin showing off all her teeth. Damp ends of her loose hair brushed against Maria’s face. 

Neither tried to speak: one observed, one knew not what to say- nor what to think, or how to breathe. 

“Ahem.” 

Their attention snapped over to the gentle, yet clearly annoyed, sound. 

Pietor pretended to examine the landscape painting on the far wall, running a finger across the frame as if checking for dust. He spoke quickly in Russian, staring straight ahead. Whatever it was, Anastasia scoffed, and removed her hands from Maria’s wrists, climbing off her to confront him. She sounded like she was protesting, to which he only repeated his last words with an added sense of urgency. She made another disparaging noise and stomped out into the hall, calling out, “I’ll be back” in English. 

With her gone, it was as if the air had been brought back into the room and they could breathe again. Maria was still stunned where she laid, trying to process the past, what, thirty seconds? A minute? The way Anastasia had swooped in replayed in her mind but it was still all so fast. She pushed herself back up to a sitting position, blinking away her surprise. She couldn’t tell exactly what emotions were spinning around inside her, but she has a sinking suspicion that they weren’t good ones. It could easily have been a playful gesture, but… there was something in her eyes. Not a flicker anymore, but a burn. The embers inside Anastasia had stirred to life once more, and Maria felt herself tense at the heat of it. 

She was alone in her thoughts, but not the room. Now that his sister had untangled herself from their guest, Pietor finally felt free to turn around. He was a tall man, every bit as sharp and steely as the other Furans, just without an ounce of their additional ready-to-equip charms. 

Maria expected him to leave too. She couldn’t fathom him wanting to have any sort of conversation with her— in fact, she could barely recall speaking more than five words to him at a time. And so she ignored his quiet presence and wondered instead about what to say when Anastasia came back. What to do. How much time was left, anyways. Where Nero was at. 

She almost missed Pietor’s low, growled question. “What did you say to her?”

“Pardon?” Her fluttering gaze turned to him and he scowled at the sight of her. 

“I want to know: what have you been saying to her?” He was no fool. He knew of the ability the Contessa had. Perhaps he didn’t understand it completely, but he knew the power it held. 

If she knew what he was hinting at, she did not play along. “What we discuss is none of your business.”

He snarled, “Nevermind then!” and backed away, muttering one last gibe under his breath. She bristled at the last half that caught her ears. 

“Did you just call me a witch?” 

“Something like that.” His back was turned but she could imagine his smug and cruel expression by the way he shot out the words. 

Maria leapt to her feet. “How _dare_ you!” Anastasia wanted to know if she could fight? Well, Maria was about to show her, using her brother as a demonstration. 

His warrior’s instinct could sense this and he was prepared in an instant. His stance suggested years of dedicated training, from the way his fists stood at the ready, down to the slightly bent knees and one foot behind the other. A coiled snake, ready to strike. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, little mouse.”

She tried inconspicuously reaching towards her pocket. If he did make a move, the dagger she hid would hopefully even out the playing field. 

For a split second, he moved towards her; she felt the dagger’s cool handle on her fingertips. Then a quiet and firm voice commanded them: “Enough.” Anastasia had silently made her return and waited in the doorway stony faced. 

“Just what,” she dripped with irritation, “do you think you’re doing?”

Maria released her weapon and clasped her hands in front of herself demurely. “Nothing. I w-“

“Not you.”

Pietor scoffed. “What? I wasn’t actually going to hurt her.”

“You better not have.”

“I swear it.” He raised his arms up and swiveled around in his heels, once again ignoring their guest. “I will leave, if it makes you feel better.”

Maria breathed a silent sigh of relief and fell back into the sofa as she heard his footsteps leave, slowly. 

As he passed Anastasia, he paused for a moment. He leaned in as if he would whisper, but made little effort to actually drop his voice so only the two of them could hear. “Don’t worry, sister. I already promised you I wouldn’t break your toys.”

* * *

A walk through the fields, like they’d done many times before. Not holding hands exactly, but loosely entwining their fingers and gently swinging their arms as they cut through the wildflower dotted grass. Every now and again Anastasia would link their elbows together and reach around to pull Maria’s arm in tighter, hugging it close as they strolled along. 

Now they were running. 

Anastasia slipped her fingers away and latched onto Maria’s hand. She hurried them forward, faster and faster, harder and harder, and now they were running and her hold was like iron. 

Maria stumbled along helplessly. Her ankles wobbled in five inch heels speeding across bumpy ground. She asked to stop. She cried out to slow down. Begged, pleaded. The only response was a laugh, set free to soar in the open sky. 

Anastasia was wild. Loose hair whipping around in the breeze. Thundering footfalls. Flying across the fields. But Maria didn’t want to fly. 

Desperately she called out the Furan girl’s name. This is what did it. In a flash, Anastasia came to a dead stop and spun around. They crashed into each other face to face, chest to chest, panting. Eyes wide and pupils thin. She looked at Maria like she was the sun: bright and sustaining and larger than life. 

“I love when you say my name.”

* * *

Five long months crawled by since the incident. Five months since Elena drew her last breath, and still the world went on turning, despite what Nero seemed to think. 

His progress towards accepting that she was gone had been slow. At least he’d moved past the brunt of the anger stage. Those had been terrible days, seeing him scream and curse at the world, smashing anything he could just to hear the satisfying noise of something else being broken like him. Sometimes he would be still and silent, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and a dangerous light burning at the back of his eyes; these days had been the worst, not knowing if this was the moment he’d finally snap. 

Now? Now he had moved on to the sadness, the brooding, and the glassy-eyed stares at nothing. He barely touched food, or spoke to anyone. The person he seemed most able to open up to was the Contessa. He shared as much of his pain as he could while still holding onto the villainous instinct of keeping your weaknesses to yourself. 

“It’s comforting,” he said one day, downcast and unusually disheveled, “to discuss this with someone who… not ‘understands’ what I’m going through, but I suppose you do know a little of what it’s like. Considering how things ended differently than you expected with… _her_.” He spat the word out, venom on his tongue, anger flashing in his eyes again while he refused to say the name of the other Furan sister. 

The Contessa was stunned - had he known about them, although they had never mentioned it?

“Max, I-“ she halted, searching for the right words. But how to say that the very danger and intensity that initially attracted her to Anastasia was what began to scare her towards the end - really _scare_ her, like an arrow piercing straight into her core. 

She didn’t need to find the words, however, as he continued on. “I know you were friends with her.” 

She blinked. It was almost funny, really, how oblivious he was. 

Nero sighed. “None of us could have known how _despicable_ she would turn out to be. Not that it matters anymore. They’re gone.” Emotion cracked through his voice as he went on, watching the clock tick steadily onwards. “I have lost… the only woman I will ever truly love. You have lost a dear friend. These are terrible tragedies.”

The Contessa was touched by his concern for her, considering how he imagined her to mourn the very person he held responsible for his lover’s death. She clapped her hands together once to startle him out of his gloom and spoke firmly. “Yes, well. I’ll survive. And so will you.”

It seemed to surprise him almost, as if part of Nero had been unable to imagine moving on with Elena by his side. “Yes. Yes, thank you. But…”

“I suggest we put all this behind us,” she told him gently, aware of the comforting and convincing effect her voice could have, even without using her persuasive abilities. “Let’s leave this in the past.”

He raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “You are telling me to simply forgive and forget?” 

“No. I am telling you to forget.”

**Author's Note:**

> Had Elena call her Nastya as a little shout out to Vela 💜  
> Also thanks to C for suggesting this ship, I would not have thought of it otherwise and this was SO fun to write💙


End file.
